


A Kiss to Build a Dream On

by Cicerothewriter



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Lots of sex but not in the first chapter, M/M, PTSD, Romance, Skinny!Steve, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3187655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicerothewriter/pseuds/Cicerothewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Erskine injected the serum into Steve, it made him stronger, but did not turn him into a muscular, heroic-looking man.  Bucky did not mind this at all.  The Winter Soldier, too, finds himself protective of the skinny blond man with a slight wheeze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note 1: This story came about because I wanted to know what would happen if Steve had not changed so drastically in appearance and would have brought about Bucky's hidden protective instincts sooner, thus triggering his memory.
> 
> Note 2: Most of this is from Bucky's point of view, but I so change that based on whose thoughts I feel like showing. If it gets confusing, let me know.
> 
> Note 3: Yasha is the Russian name, James (or so the internet tells me; it's a diminutive of Jacob, or Yakon in Russian). I could not find out if the Winter Soldier had a name other than Winter Soldier or Asset when he was not on missions. If he does, please let me know and I will change it. Rybka is a Russian endearment meaning "little fish."
> 
> Note 4: The title is from the Louis Armstrong song of the same name. Thank you, Pandora.
> 
> Note 5: And last but not least, thank you to Muldvarp-dronning (née Molegirl) and Churchofpoetry for the encouragement and beta services. You are the best!

_Give me a kiss to build a dream on,_  
And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss.  
Sweetheart, I ask no more than this,  
A kiss to build a dream on. 

_Give me a kiss before you leave me,_  
And my imagination will feed my hungry heart.  
Leave me one thing before we part,  
A kiss to build a dream on. 

_And when I'm alone with my fancies, I'll be with you.  
Weaving romances, making believe they're true._

_Oh, give me your lips for just a moment,_  
And my imagination will make that moment live.  
Give me what you alone can give,  
A kiss to build a dream on. 

 

When Hydra turned James Buchanan Barnes into the Winter Soldier, Bucky fought this violation with all of his strength and stubbornness, but the agony of surviving a fall that would have instantly killed another man and the horror of losing his left arm made him vulnerable. Years passed before they successfully smashed and reformed him into the Winter Soldier. Torture, surgery, and brain-wipes turned him into the perfect weapon, or so the scientists and handlers told their bosses. Despite all their attempts to separate the weapon from the man, they never completely erased his heart.

The Winter Soldier remembered laughter and a blond-haired man. He remembered a kiss that blurred into a soft erotic dream. He remembered fear, agony, and loss. His handlers used these memories to their advantage, and created a story to fit what they could not erase. Stepan had been his comrade, his partner and lover, who had been brutally killed by enemy soldiers. Those soldiers had then fled to the Americans, who protected them from justice. The Winter Soldier could not understand why he had allowed his sweet little friend to join up with him, and the thought of Stepan in enemy hands made his gut ache and enflamed his desire for vengeance.

After numerous missions over several decades, after being frozen for years in between those missions, after numerous handlers, the Winter Soldier still dreamed of his blond lover, longed for him, and waited patiently until he would be decommissioned and could join Stepan in his final rest.

His cold, metal cage had been traded between handlers so many times that eventually no one remembered that it would be a bad idea to send the Winter Soldier after Steve Rogers.

 

When Steven Grant Rogers agreed to test Erskine's serum, the results were not what they had intended. Steve's body grew stronger, but sometimes he became winded or his heart would beat too fast – never enough to endanger him, but enough to slow him down. He never grew muscles in a bulky way, but he gained a wiry strength that suited his slender frame. His spine straightened, his hearing developed beyond that of normal humans, and for the first time he could see the full range of colors. Erskine's bosses decided that Steve had useful skills but that he was not the super-soldier that they were imagining. Erskine continued his work, and the Hydra spy who had been watching the experiment left with the belief that the Americans were no closer to a successful formula.

This suited Steve well because he could use his skills without having to compensate for a bigger body. He was small enough to be invisible but strong enough to infiltrate various places in order to scout for information; harmless looking enough to get the enemy or an unaware civilian to give up their secrets; strong enough to knock someone out or survive a moderate fall; smart enough to learn both languages and tactics. Eventually they found another to play the propagandist role of Captain America but Steve was the brains and bravery behind that role.

Steve's experience with intelligence retrieval and his military travels put him in the perfect position to rescue his friend, Bucky Barnes, despite orders not to. Steve would never abandon Bucky, even if it earned him a court-martial. When Steve appeared out of nowhere, and described what happened to him Bucky was predictably upset. Bucky had always been protective, and Steve's enhancements did not change that. Steve still got winded on the march back, and Bucky yelled at him when he found he did not have his asthma medication.

Steve was aware that something had happened to Bucky while he was captured, something more than torture, but Bucky refused to tell him. Steve did his best to be near when Bucky needed him, to listen when he did eventually talk, and to keep Bucky busy so that he did not brood too much.

Steve often wondered what would have happened had Bucky not been killed. Bucky had kissed him right before they got on that train and changed their relationship. If he had not, Steve would have continued his budding romance with Peggy and it would have been good. Bucky, however, he had loved Bucky since they were kids, and well, Bucky needed him.

He pictured them returning to Brooklyn, perhaps getting a nicer apartment together. He would go to art school, and Bucky would study science or engineering like he had dreamed of doing, if they had been able to afford it. Two young fellows living together would only seem a little odd, but not if they were ex-Army buds. Eventually they might get a house for privacy, and soon they would be just two who had always lived together. No one would question them.

In hindsight, his fantasies were perhaps a little too naïve, but idle fantasy never hurt anyone. Idle fantasy hurt less than remembering the terror of watching Bucky fall and being unable to reach for his hand. Idle fantasy was all he had left once he had been revived from the ice and called back to action.

He had been thinking more about Bucky lately because of Natasha's attempts to get him dating. He knew that he should, but he had not lied when he told her that he had been busy. He knew that neither Bucky nor Peggy would have wanted him to be alone, but no one today could understand what he had gone through. Plus, people did not realize how skinny and delicate he was until they met him. After the last woman tried to date him for fame and prestige, obviously not attracted to him, he had stopped. To be perfectly honest, he felt like he was waiting for something to happen.

 

The Asset's target was Nicholas J. Fury, the head of SHIELD. He paid little attention to the blond man who had been in the apartment with Fury until that man followed him onto the rooftop. He heard the metallic whir of a projectile and caught the shield that had been thrown at him. He turned to glare at the person who had thrown it and was momentarily startled by the short, skinny man he discovered. They stared at each other, the blond in surprise and himself impressed by the other's tenacity. He threw the shield hard and knocked the blond to his knees. He felt a momentary need to rush to him, and help him up, to apologize, and hold him close. Instead, he jumped from the building while the other was distracted.

At the extraction point, his thought kept returning to the man. He had looked familiar. Who was he? But before he could ask, he was wiped and put back into cold storage.

 

The Asset was sent out again that week, which was unusual. Nobody informed him of this fact, but his internal clock was reliable, and he could hear the nervous whispers of those around him. Something big was happening. 

He accompanied the team as they tracked the car with the four targets. The first one was easy to take out, but the other three were remarkably difficult to kill. He recognized the red-haired woman as a former operative, and targeted her himself.

He was about to shoot the Black Widow for the second time, when the blond man charged him and hit him with his shield. They fought, but he found himself hesitating before he took a kill shot or before he attempted to stab him while they were pressed against the van. To his surprise, the shorter man was able to throw him, and he heard his mask fall behind him as he rolled to his feet. He felt disoriented; he was forbidden from taking off his mask in public, and had not done so for as long as he could remember.

"Bucky?"

He examined his target, slight and short, angular, but with large eyes and lush lips parted in surprise. He was impressed by his target's agility and strength, and he was befuddled by his sudden desire to cradle him close and run his fingers through his blond hair.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" He walked towards his target, arms down in a non-threatening position, an unthinkable vulnerability.

"You're Bucky, my best friend," his target said.

That name should have meant nothing to him. He was always given the barest of facts: a target, a picture, and a location. He should only have in his head his current mission, but instead he remembered his unfamiliar laughter mixed with another's, and having his foot stepped on as he tried to teach him how to dance. He remembered Stepan's face – a little thinner, paler – and a little hole in the wall apartment which Stepan kept immaculate. Their home.

His eyes widened. Stepan? How could this be? Stepan had been killed.

He opened his mouth to speak when a man with mechanical wings kicked him in the back of the head, knocking him to the side. He shook his head as he rose to his knees, his hands bracing himself on the asphalt.

Strike Team pull up behind him, and he knew that he could not let them have Steve. He did not care about the others, just Steve. He pulled out his gun, stood, and began shooting at the Strike Team, who scattered in obvious confusion. Steve ran to help the Black Widow, and the man with the wings shrugged and began shooting at his side.

They ran to the end of the street, using what cover they could to protect themselves. Another black van pulled up, and he tensed, but the others seemed to know the female driver. He sat next to Steve, covering him from the gunfire until they could get out of there. "Stepan," he said softly, resting a hand on Steve's upper arm.

"Check him for a tracker," the Black Widow said, her voice full of pain.

"Bucky, do you have a tracker on you?" Everyone – including the Winter Soldier himself – looked on in disbelief that Steve would simply ask.

"Inside my arm," he said, pointing to his metal arm.

"The van has a jamming device so that it will block trackers," the female driver said. "We'll worry about that when we get to where we are going."

The Winter Soldier, meanwhile, had turned his attention back to his target, who was looking at him with wide eyes. There was a familiar tightness in Stepan's lips and instability to his breaths. Steve was beginning to have an asthma attack.

"Where is your asthma medication, Stepan?" he asked, eyes running up and down Steve's body.

"I, uh, must have dropped it somewhere." Steve was trying to modulate his breaths, but he could heart the rattle in his chest.

He turned to the others. "Which one of you has his backup medication?" They stared at him. "You haven't figured out yet that he's always losing his?" He sighed when he received no response.

He knew what to do in this case. Why did he know this? Oh yes, they had been poor and often could not always afford all of Stepan's medication.

"Coffee. Hot, black coffee. We need to get some coffee."

"Bucky…" Steve said, trying not to gasp as he spoke.

"We're kind of on the run at the moment," the female said from the front of the van.

"Yeah, and he'll wheeze his way into unconsciousness, making it more difficult for us to hide."

They stopped at a drive-thru Starbucks. He heard the woman ask for a coffee with four espresso shots and several sugars. Meanwhile, he rested his hand on Steve's chest. "Follow my breaths, if you can. Concentrate." He felt Steve's heart beat fast in his chest, but it calmed as they breathed together.

Sam handed him the cup, and he took it with a grunt of thanks. He helped Steve take gentle sips, Steve's long fingers – oddly long and thick for so slender a man – sliding next to his, sharing the warmth from the cup.

 

Their retreat was some underground bunker. The people inside stared at him, but he only cared that the pink was returning to Steve's full lips. Steve noticed him looking and smiled a shy reassurance. He could recall seeing that smile before.

He supposed that his personal pride should demand that he be angered by Fury's survival, but he was impressed that the man had managed to survive so much, including being shot by a bullet that the Asset had fired through a wall. However, he was more interested in the back and forth between the female driver, named Maria Hill, Fury, Natasha, and Steve. Sam was obviously a recent addition to their group. He stood behind and added comments when asked, but otherwise observed. His demeanor was that of a soldier, and he held his body in a deceptive state of relaxation.

Steve was obviously an important part of SHIELD, and Bucky was impressed by Steve's stubborn determination. He was proud that he had attained such respect and power on his own merit. Steve deserved that.

Towards the end of the meeting, Steve began to cough lightly, a sign that he was trying to hide another impending asthma attack. Bucky sighed, and took Steve's hand, leading him to the hallway. Ignoring Steve's complaints, he led Steve back to where they had first met Fury.

He walked up to the nurse, who looked curiously at their linked hands, and said, "Do you have Stepan's asthma medication?"

"Certainly. I'll be right back."

The nurse returned, and handed Steve a plastic mouthpiece with an upside down metal bottle attached. It looked vaguely like one of the nebulizers Steve had used before for really bad asthma attacks when they could afford one. Bucky watched Steve closely as he exhaled, then put the piece to his mouth and pressed down, inhaling the medicine and holding his breath while it worked.

Bucky rested his hand on Steve's chest, and felt his heart beat a blissfully steady rhythm. After a minute, Steve exhaled, and their breaths quickly matched each other's. 

"How are you feeling?" Bucky asked.

"Better. The coffee helped a lot."

He turned back to the nurse and asked, "Do you have an extra one? He's going to lose his."

"Oh, sure." The man left, and returned quickly with a second inhaler, which he gave to Bucky.

Bucky put it in one of his many pockets. He saw Steve's amused look, and said, "Gotta take care of you, Stepan."

"I know, Buck. You take care of me real good."

Sam stepped in, and relaxed when he saw them together. "Maria wants to scan your arm as soon as possible to remove any tracking devices."

Bucky nodded, and they both followed Sam to another room. "Can I speak to you alone?" Sam asked Steve as Bucky walked into the room.

Bucky turned, unable to hide his alarm.

"It'll be okay, Buck," Steve said. "Come find me when you're done, yeah?"

"Yeah," Bucky said, eyeing Sam in a not very pleasant way.

 

After they removed the tracker and scanned his body for any other surprises, Bucky left to find Steve. He was not scared, he told himself; it only made sense that he find the person most welcoming to him.

Steve was talking to Sam by the cement barricade. He heard Sam say, "He's not the man you used to know."

"I know, Sam, but he's still Bucky. He's still my best friend… til the end of the line."

He stepped into the clearing, and Sam gave him the side-eye. "Just be careful," he said before walking back toward their makeshift base.

"He's right," Bucky said. "You should be wary of me."

Steve sighed, and gave him a look that said, "Not you, too." Bucky stood next to him, looking out at the horizon.

"I know you, Buck. I’m not afraid of you."

He remembered trying to shoot Steve through the roof of a car not a few hours ago. "You're stupid not to be afraid."

"I can't be. You took all the stupid with you."

Bucky had a flashback – two girls, leaving them behind with another fellow, walking through the future exhibit, alone, waiting for Steve, hoping that the army would not go insane and suddenly decide to accept Steve. He remembered the longing to find Steve, drag him from that damn recruiting station, take him to their tiny apartment – their home – and finally kiss those full lips, feel the sharp edge of his hips with his fingers, to kiss the points of his shoulders, mouth that pale skin. It was just a fantasy, but one that he took to war with him and played out many times.

"Why'd you protect me?" Steve asked. "Back there at the bridge?"

"That's what I've always done," he said.

"So why should I be scared?" Steve smiled, but here was some sad wetness in his eyes. "Jesus, Buck," he said softly, voice catching. "I thought you were dead, that you died in front of me, inches from my hand, and now," he looked away, then back, and Bucky felt the ache deep in his gut. "You're alive! I can't… can't see the downside of this. Please don't ask me to be afraid of you."

Bucky pulled Steve close, arms loose around his ribs. He remembered many hugs and half-embraces from before, and hoped that Steve would welcome his actions. "It'll be okay, Stepan. We'll figure it out."

Steve rested his cheek against his right shoulder, breathing a staccato rhythm against his neck. Bucky worried about his asthma acting up again, and tightened his arms protectively around his body.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Steve whispered against his neck, holding him tighter. "Here I am in the future, and you weren't here to enjoy it."

"Stepan… Steve," he whispered into his ear, more a soft breath than an actual word. "I'm here now."

Steve nodded, and clutched him closer. Their bodies fit perfectly, clicking into place like to puzzle pieces. They stayed that way for several minutes, listening to each other's breaths and the rustle of nature.

 

Sam, Natasha, and Maria were sitting in what had been designated as the dining room. Sam had texted Steve to let him and Bucky know that dinner was ready, but none of them felt compelled to wait for the others to appear.

"We might as well talk while they're not here," Natasha said. "Steve's been compromised."

Sam sighed. "This man used to be his friend."

"Best friend," Maria said. "Coulson used to talk a lot about Steve Rogers, and he would mention Bucky Barnes in at least half of those stories. I think he would have been pleased that some of his theories about their relationship were true."

"He's not the person he used to be," Natasha said. "I've been trained by the same people. You don't just snap out of it because someone from your past shows up."

"Not just someone. They grew up together," Maria replied. "I agree that this is strange, and I don't trust the Winter Soldier at all, but Captain America has a powerful affect on people."

Sam said, "The good news is that since the Winter Soldier is occupied with Steve, he's not in Hydra's hands."

"We just need to make sure that Steve doesn't get distracted from what needs to be done," Maria added.

"He won't," Natasha said slowly, her words hesitant but no less true. "I trust him. He knows a lot about self-sacrifice."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Muldvarp-dronning (née Molegirl) and Churchofpoetry for the encouragement and beta services!

After another ten minutes, Steve and the Winter Soldier arrived for dinner. Natasha watched closely as they interacted with each other. If it were not for the metal arm and black leather, she would have sworn the man who tried to kill them earlier was a different person from the one who was currently inspecting the half-empty gallon of two percent milk. Even if he did not smile, his eyes were kinder, his jaw softer, his expression loving when he looked at Steve.

Natasha was certainly not one to trust readily, and while she trusted Steve, she did not always trust his judgment. He was a kind-hearted man in a terrible world, and had just found out that his lover had been an ex-Soviet ghost story, an assassin, who had twice tried to kill Fury and later them. She trusted Steve to protect them but not himself.

The Winter Soldier frequently touched Steve, just innocent touches on his shoulder or arm, once against his cheek, and several on his back. Steve seemed to take it all in stride, and responded in a manner more handsy than she had ever seen on him.

They sat down at the table to eat, and Sam started the conversation about a new restaurant that had opened up near the VA. Conversation drifted until they ran out of things to say that did not involve a full-out interrogation of the Winter Soldier.

"What do you want to know?" Bucky asked at a lull in the conversation. Natasha had been staring at him, her fork held more like a knife than an eating utensil. Sam was concentrating on trying to read Steve's mind, and Maria alternated attention among all four of them and her plate.

"Why did you decide not to kill us?" Natasha asked.

"I remembered Stepan," Bucky replied. "Not all of the details, but I remember that he was my friend."

Natasha could see that he was telling the truth. Steve hovered nervously by his side, glancing between them. He looked ready to jump in the moment the Winter Soldier hesitated.

"And that was enough for you to betray your handlers? Remembering Steve?"

"Yes," Bucky replied, glaring back at her. "He is very memorable."

"How did you survive the fall from the train?" Maria asked. "That fall should have killed you."

The Winter Soldier thought for a few moments, his fingers clenching into fists. Before anyone could react negatively, Steve rested his hand on his metal fist, his slender fingers gentle against the bright glare. The Winter Soldier relaxed, giving Steve a smile.

"I don't remember falling, but I do remember the cold at my back and my arm…" Here he made a vague gesture toward his metal arm before continuing, "I landed on it."

Everyone winced. Steve paled, and his fingers tightened on Bucky's fist.

"I was found by a soldier – Russian, I think. I don't remember much until I was being operated on. They cut off most of my arm, and attached this metal one. It was painful." The Winter Soldier shrugged.

Natasha felt a twinge of sympathy for him. She doubted he was given any sort of anesthesia; it was entirely possible that he would never retrieve those memories because they were too traumatic.

"You survived the fall," Steve said, the realization in his voice. "When I found you in that Hydra factory, they had been experimenting on you. I never asked; I should have."

"Stepan," the Winter Soldier said, twisting his metal fingers so that he could fully entwine his fingers with Steve's.

"Whatever Hydra did to you helped you to survive the fall. I should have gone after you. I should have followed. How long were you down there, Buck?"

"None of this is your fault, Steve," Natasha said.

"You couldn’t have abandoned your mission," Bucky added. "And if you had followed me down, if we had survived, I would of yelled at you for pulling such a dangerous stunt."

Steve had that mulish look that spelled trouble. Natasha said, "He jumps out of planes without a parachute. You should really talk to him about that."

The Winter Soldier's eyes narrowed. "Steve…"

Steve huffed, and said, "Don't start, Buck."

"You were always putting yourself into danger," the Winter Soldier continued. Despite his anger, Natasha could detect none of the Winter Soldier's previous coldness. Bucky Barnes was a man who burned hot, and it made quite a difference.

"For good reasons. I wasn't gonna let some bully harass a dame or a little kid. It ain't right!"

 

"You used to be smaller, sicker, and you still ran straight into danger." Bucky said, the memories coming more readily now that they had a narrative to follow. He felt horrified when he realized that Steve had subjected himself to experimentation. "I remember – you ran off to be a lab rat!"

"Yeah, and I don't regret it."

"It was a stupid thing to do."

Bucky could not imagine volunteering for something that caused such agony. He began to tremble when he remembered the vibration of a saw and how his screams echoed off the walls of the lab. He came to when Steve rested a hand on his chest, and said, "It's all right, Bucky. You're safe."

"They hurt you," Bucky said, resting his flesh hand over Steve's, squeezing it gently. "I could strangle Erskine for hurting you." He gave Steve a rueful look, and added, "That is not a new feeling."

Steve smiled sadly, his gaze understanding. "It only hurt one time, Buck, and they didn't force me. They certainly didn't take away my memories."

Bucky looked at the others, who were watching with reluctant fascination. Natasha had the far-away gaze of someone who was ruminating inside her own head. Her fighting style had been one he was familiar with, and he wondered how much of his story would match hers.

"Well, I still don't like it, although it did make you stronger." He would never admit that he was relieved that he could still tuck Steve under his chin, and hold him tight. He could protect Steve without looking like he was protecting Steve.

"I wish they had completely cured my asthma," Steve said, a smile on his face.

"They had to slow you down some way," Bucky replied. "Otherwise you'd have charged ahead and got Hitler before the rest of the US Army.

Before they parted for the evening, Natasha said. "Our plan for tomorrow is a go. What do you need?"

Steve smiled at Bucky, and then turned to her. "I'm gonna need a uniform."

Natasha smiled. "Leave it to me."

 

"What do you remember?" Steve asked as they walked back to their bunks for the night.

"Hanging our laundry in the house," Bucky said. "It took forever to dry in the winter because our heater never worked. We shared a bed, even though we had two. You preferred the left side. It kept your good ear out so that you could hear. I spooned behind you, keeping you warm."

"Keeping us both warm, Buck. You got cold, too."

Bucky hummed, and felt an unexpected warmth of a blush on his cheeks at his selfishness which made him wonder if his own comfort had really been a concern of his younger self. He watched the way Steve's lashes fluttered dark against his pale skin, and felt heat in his gut.

"Tell me something you remember," he asked Steve.

Steve paused, deep in thought. "You were always a better cook than me, but your baking was a masterpiece. You once entered a baking contest as 'Janette' and collected the first place winnings."

"You were sick," he replied bluntly. "It was for your medicine."

Steve frowned. "Why would you remember that part and not the part about how good your baking is?"

"Because…" Had his target's eyes always been that blue? "Because I have always protected you, Stepan. They could not take those memories from me."

"Oh, Buck," Steve said softly. "I never forgot you either."

Bucky pulled him close. "Stepan… Steve…"

Steve brushed his hair back from his cheek, and then rose up on his tiptoes to kiss Bucky. It was a gentle kiss, chaste and full of emotion. Bucky pulled him close, hands on Steve's lower back.

When they pulled apart, Bucky kept him close. Steve's fingers threaded through his hair, at once calming and exciting him.

"We…" Bucky hesitated. "We were not lovers."

"No," Steve said. "You kissed me for the first time right before we attacked the train, before you fell."

"I couldn't tell," Bucky said. "I must have thought about it a lot. They let me believe that Stepan and I were lovers. When I met you, I wasn't sure what was real."

Steve's eyes were soft and full of love. Bucky felt himself melting at that gaze. "I thought about it, too. My biggest regret was that I didn't say anything and I let you fall thinking I hadn't loved you since we were kids."

"Steve," he said. He cupped Steve's cheek gently, and then kissed him. He touched his tongue to Steve's lower lip, and Steve opened, letting him in. They deepened the kiss, pressed tightly together. Steve wobbled a bit on his toes, and Bucky braced him with a hand on his backside, holding him up and close.

Steve's long fingers threaded their way through his hair, and he held Bucky's head steady as they kissed. Bucky's fantasies paled when compared to this reality. Steve's mouth was hotter, his lips softer, his moans more beautiful. Steve pressed his body to Bucky's, the friction making him shiver with lust.

Their soft panting echoed in the hallway as they held each other, needing to breathe but unwilling to part.

Steve's slender fingers gripped the leather strap of his gun holster, pulling him in for a chaste press of the lips. "I'm tired of waiting, Buck."

"Stevie," Bucky murmured. He felt like he should protest, as if he were not protecting Steve properly by allowing this.

"Please," Steve said, nuzzling his jaw with his soft lips.

He was not sure if this was a good idea, but he could not refuse a Steve who needed him; he had never been able to. Steve kissed him, coaxing him into their temporary room for the night. He was addicted, and gorged himself as one might after starving for seventy years. While his mind may have had doubts about whether this was smart, his body was enthusiastic.

Steve kissed down his neck, blond hair brushing against his cheek. He reached up from Steve's waist to stroke his right hand through the strands. Steve hummed softly, and pulled back so that he could look up into Bucky's face. Bucky cupped his jaw, stroking the soft skin.

"I should have said something sooner. I was a coward."

"No, never a coward," Steve replied. "You were right to be scared. We could have been arrested."

"You'd have been worth it, punk."

Steve grinned. "So would you, and don't forget I was there. I could have said something, too."

"We were both stupid."

"But we're not now."

Bucky huffed softly. His laugh sounded unpracticed but genuine. "I wouldn't go that far."

Steve laughed, pulled him close, and then they were kissing again. Bucky backed him against the nearest wall, tilted Steve's head back, and deepened the kiss. Steve's generous moan made him shiver, his dick stiffening almost painfully. He pressed his hips against Steve's stomach, and Steve moaned again.

"Buck, please," Steve said softly against his lips. He tugged at the buckles and buttons of Bucky's uniform, his slender fingers working quickly against the black leather. The holster and then the jacket dropped behind him with a thud. Next came the black undershirt, and Bucky raised his arms so that Steve could pull it over his head. He reached for Steve's shirt, and removed it as well. Bucky was only able to observe a few muscles under pale skin before Steve stroked his fingers through Bucky's hair and then pulled him down to resume their kiss.

Bucky felt a moment of doubt as he explored Steve's torso with both his hands. Steve seemed to enjoy his touch no matter whether his hand was flesh or metal, so he put the thought out of his mind for the moment. His metal fingers gleamed dangerously against Steve's fragile-looking ribs, but Steve only shivered, biting his lower lip as his eyes fluttered shut.

Steve's fingers were on his belt, and then Steve moved away so that he could drag Bucky to the bed. Steve knelt and began working on the complicated fastenings of his boots. Bucky bent over to help, and they shared a few upside down and sideways kisses as they removed his boots, giggling a little as their fingers moved clumsily.

Bucky finished stripping as Steve stood so that he could remove his own clothes. He watched eagerly as Steve revealed more pale, soft-looking skin. The serum had healed the near-skeletal boniness that had always scared Bucky and compelled him to sneak Steve more than his fair share of their meals. In its place was the same slenderness that made Bucky want to both wrap Steve up in soft cotton and also bend him over their shabby couch with the soft lavender quilt that Steve had found in a dumpster. 

Steve blushed, and Bucky grinned when he saw the redness seep down Steve's neck and into his chest. "You look fantastic, Stevie," he said, well aware that Steve had always been insecure about his body, although less so after the serum had healed it.

"Not as soft as those dames you used to go out with," Steve said.

Bucky kissed him gently, and ran his right hand lightly down Steve's back to his backside. "Plenty soft to me," he said with an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle.

Steve laughed, and wrapped his arms around Bucky's neck. "It's all for you, Buck," he replied, kissing his chin.

"I'm a lucky guy," Bucky said, trying for levity, but his expression was entirely serious.

"Me, too," Steve said, just as serious. "Show me. Show me what a lucky guy you are."

"Yes," Bucky whispered, and then kissed him deeply. With his hands, he encouraged Steve to sit and then lie down on the bed, unwilling to break the kiss for unimportant words. He settled between Steve's legs, and wrapped his metal arm beneath Steve's body so that he could keep them pressed together.

Steve wrapped his legs around Bucky's hips, pulling them closer. Bucky could feel Steve's erection against his stomach. He reached down to cradle it with his flesh hand. Steve moaned softly, his hips jerking up at the sensation.

"Does that feel good, Stevie?" Bucky asked, wrapping his fingers completely around the shaft. He started a light stroke, and Steve moaned again, head tilting back against the pillow.

"God, Buck, yeah," Steve said.

"Want to make you feel real good, doll," Bucky said, twisting his wrist a little as he stroked up.

Steve whimpered, and clutched at Bucky's shoulders, one hand reaching up to stroke his hair, fingers desperate. "You do, Buck. I want to make you feel good, too."

"You do," Bucky said, and kissed him to prove it.

Steve's hand stroked his hair one last time, then slid down to Bucky's dick. Bucky groaned into Steve's mouth as Steve began to stroke him.

They quickly matched their rhythm to each other. Kisses slowed to soft presses of lips as they sought breath. Bucky was delighted to see Steve slowly fall apart in his arms, and he murmured encouragement as Steve came over his fist, biting his lower lip to mute the noise. Just a few more strokes from Steve's long fingered grip, and Bucky came, watching in fascination as his release painted pearly stripes against Steve's red-flushed skin.

Bucky collapsed half-on Steve, panting softly into his hair. Steve hummed against his neck, and Bucky pulled back in time to see the satisfied smile on Steve's face.

They did not speak. They lay together, and slowly drifted asleep.

 

Bucky felt the pain slam through his body, causing him to lose balance and fall out of the open door. He grabbed onto the outside of the train, but he could see that the handle he had grabbed was about to break. He tried to reach for Steve, whose arm was stretched out for him. His expression was full of a terrible pain, and Bucky ached at the knowledge that he was the cause. As he fell, he kept his eyes on little Stevie, clinging safely to the train.

Bucky woke, his breath stuck in his throat. Steve was stroking his hair and speaking softly to him. "It's all right, Bucky. You're safe, and so am I."

"The train," Bucky said. "I remember."

Steve's hand stilled in his hair. "You fell," Steve said. "I couldn't reach you. It was-"

Bucky interrupted him. "It wasn't your fault, Steve." He swallowed, and reached up to tenderly cup Steve's cheek. "And I died with you as my last vision, my last thought. I can't regret that."

"It shouldn't have happened at all," Steve said softly.

"But it did, and I'm here now." Bucky sat up so that he could kiss Steve. Steve curled up against him, fiddling with the bedclothes until they were covered once more. Bucky sighed contentedly, and kissed Steve again.

"It's nearly time to get up," Bucky said after a long but comfortable silence. Steve grunted, making Bucky laugh. Steve was not naturally a morning person.

"Do you remember how we used to discuss traveling around the US?" Steve asked, intertwining his fingers with Bucky's metal ones.

"Not really," Bucky said, giving Steve an apologetic look. As soon as the words left his lips, he shook his head. "Except something about the Grand Canyon."

Steve's face lit up, and he said, "Yeah. We had always wanted to see the Grand Canyon."

"You want to go after we get done with all of this?" Bucky asked. He was unsure what "all of this" entailed and how long it would take, but he liked the idea of downtime with Steve. As the Winter Soldier, he had never had time to himself.

"Yes," Steve replied, kissing him gently. "I want to have you all to myself."

Bucky hummed softly, and kissed Steve again. "Sounds perfect."

"Hm, yes," Steve replied, kissing down Bucky's neck. Bucky's hands rested on his hips, slowly stroking his back and shoulders, then down to squeeze his butt. Steve's soft little sighs and moans of pleasure encouraged him to continue his touches.

Gradually Steve worked down his body, nipping gently at his clavicle, sucking his nipples, teasing his abs with his tongue. Bucky was content to let Steve do what he wanted; it was obvious that Steve had something in mind. Steve slid a hand down between Bucky's legs, drawing them apart.

"I like your ideas," Bucky said softly, his hands touching Steve's hair, his cheeks, his shoulders, wherever he could reach.

"You were complaining about my ideas yesterday," Steve said, touching the tip of his tongue to Bucky's erection. Bucky moaned softly, watching avidly as Steve's full lips brushed against the head of his dick.

"Yeah, but this is a good one," Bucky replied, then biting his lower lip to hold back a moan as Steve's hot mouth closed on the head. He groaned as Steve sucked, then licked. He kept his hands gentle on Steve's body, not wanting to hurt him.

Steve gradually took more of Bucky's dick into his mouth, bobbing his head and sucking. The look of concentration on Steve's face was nearly as erotic as his actions. It was amazing to be the center of Steve's attention, and Bucky would never take that attention for granted.

Bucky had not realized that he was a talker during sex, but apparently he was because he could not shut up. He showered Steve with encouragements and praise, calling him his doll and baby, telling him how good Steve made him feel.

Steve pulled back so that he could lick and tease with his tongue, the smile in his eyes as well as on his lips.

"Please don't tease me, Stepan, baby, please."

"Since you said so nicely," Steve replied, taking him into his mouth again.

Bucky moaned, feeling the pleasure melt from his core into his legs and arms until he could feel nothing but the pleasure Steve was giving him. He cried out a warning, but Steve kept working him until Bucky whimpered and came, eyes closing.

When he opened his eyes, Steve was watching him, panting softly, eyes hazy with need, licking at his sticky lips.

"Come here," Bucky said, guiding Steve by his shoulders until Steve was lying on top of him. He kissed Steve passionately, humming as he tasted himself. "What does my doll want?" he murmured, kissing Steve's jaw.

"Touch me, please, Buck," Steve said, face flushed with need.

Bucky nodded, and reached down to stroke Steve's hard erection. "Next time, baby," Bucky said, murmuring into Steve's ear. "I'll try that with you. We're running out of time, or else I'd do it now. I can't wait to get my mouth on your dick."

Steve moaned helplessly, and came against Bucky's stomach. Bucky continued to stroke him until Steve's dick started to soften, and then he cradled Steve close. They drifted in a pleasant haze for a few minutes until Steve's phone chimed, telling them that they had to get up.

"Rain check?" Bucky asked.

"As soon as we can," Steve said, and kissed him.

 

Natasha had somehow retrieved Steve's old uniform from the Smithsonian. It brought back memories both pleasant and unpleasant. The pleasant memories usually included the Howling Commandoes and Bucky, fighting during the day and camaraderie at night. To them he had not been a hero or a super-soldier; he had been Steve Rogers, the angry short man, who would fire off an insult or a punch in less than a second, who blushed at both Bucky and Peggy, and received ribbing for both. Bucky treated him no differently than he had when they had been kids. The only difference was that he knew that Steve was stronger and would heal.

Steve watched as Bucky returned from the shower. Bucky's wet hair dropped trails of water down his back and chest. Steve thought about licking a path upward, stroking and kissing that broad chest. He smirked inwardly, returning his attention to his uniform. He preferred his older uniform to the one he had received after his resurrection from the ice. Coulson had put a lot of effort into its design, but it had been very blue and a bit tight in the butt. Coulson had definite goals for that uniform.

Steve noticed that Bucky was watching him as he dressed. Bucky's eyes were trained on his ass, and he was not being subtle at all with his interest. Steve laughed softly, and Bucky's eyes rose to meet his. "See something you like, Buck?"

Bucky smiled, and Steve could have swooned at that familiar look. It was the look Bucky gave to dames when he asked them to dance, as if he were asking them for something else. Bucky had always been a gentleman, but he was a naughty one. "Something I like very much," Bucky said, coming closer.

Bucky had opted for his all-black outfit, and Steve admitted that it looked perfect on him. The leather especially was giving him ideas. Bucky had not yet fastened the harness that held his gun to his back, and Steve grabbed the two pieces, pulling Bucky close and stealing a deep, forceful kiss.

"Later, yeah?"

"You gonna boss me around, Steve," Bucky asked, looking a bit dazed from the kiss. "Take charge?"

"If you let me, and you always let me," Steve said tightening his grip, and pulling just a bit.

Bucky moaned softly, his lashes fluttering closed.

They heard a cough, and saw Sam standing at the end of the hallway. "Suited up?" he asked, looking amused.

"Nearly," Steve said. He tugged the leather straps into place, belting them with firm force. His eyes never left Bucky's.

Bucky kissed him softly, and then handed him his helmet. "Ready."

They smiled, and then turned to follow Sam.


End file.
